Last Words
by Iane Casey
Summary: House and Cuddy meet at Wilson's funeral service. Post-Series finale. Rated M to be safe.


**Disclaimer: **If House, Cuddy and Wilson were mine, it wouldn't have been THAT fucked up. Made up House's aunt, he didn't have one, as far as I know, so she's miiiiine. Shore and Co.'s, not mine.

_**A/N:**_Thanks to Penny for the beta service! :D

This is my first ever (and most probably my only) Post-Series finale fic! Only ep I watched of S8 was the finale. Shortest, too, but I consider it a drabble.

I was a bit inspired by a sudden mood that had befallen me and just started to write it.

To those who have questions regarding my In-Progress fics, PM me or visit my profile and ask me questions on FormSpring. I'll be updating them eventually, so have no fear! You'll get your happy endings, I promise! :)

Warning, it's quite sad!

_Hope you like it! Leave a review on your way out, please! :)_

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_**Last Words**_

* * *

.

They sat rows away from one another.

Initially, her instinct was to beat him with his cane until he actually died when she first saw his familiar frame and posture.

She believed he was dead! The bastard.

The strength to attend his funeral didn't come to her, the grief and guilt too overpowering. So, while Wilson and the other people who knew him paid their last respects to one of the most brilliant medical minds of their time, she had stayed at home, playing with Rachel while mourning him.

Seeing him at Wilson's funeral, at that moment, blew her into the eye of an emotional storm. Her insides were churning with both hate and longing that she wanted to hit him for still having power over her feelings.

But, as her eyes drifted to Wilson's coffin, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply before releasing a steadying breath.

She was here for James, not the man she used to love.

Still loved.

Only loved.

They were far from one another, but the tension (sadly, not the good kind) was so thick, it made her uneasy. With the way his shoulders were drawn, though, she had a feeling that she was the only one bothered by their proximity. Somehow, that made her more annoyed at him, angry even.

She wanted to be nearer Wilson's coffin, but she didn't want to make House more uncomfortable than he already obviously was. She shouldn't have cared about how he'd feel, but she decided to let this one thing slide. She hated him with every fiber of her being since the day he severed everything between them, but she would always harbor that one soft spot for him in her heart, and she didn't want to hurt him more than she already had.

He had only glanced at her once, eyes void of emotion, and then almost immediately looked away, gazing back at Wilson's coffin. She wanted to ask him if he would be all right, but she knew the answer to that question. She wanted to comfort him, but she knew it would be a bad idea.

When it ended, and as Wilson's casket was lowered into the ground, House was nowhere to be found.

A small boy, five or seven years old, walked up to her, holding a small sheet of paper. She thanked the kid and looked around to see if House was anywhere near. He wasn't.

"I'm sorry for everything." It was all the note read.

Cuddy took deep breaths and held herself together as she walked quickly towards her car. When she got into the vehicle, she finally allowed herself to fall apart.

It took her a moment to go from sad to angry. She was mad at him for not being able to approach her, look her in the eye and say what he wrote to her face.

But after a couple of minutes, she realized that she was mostly mad at him for not saying goodbye. Mad at herself for not asking him if he would be okay.

No matter how she felt about him, she always worried. Without Wilson, he was alone. Without the only person who ever had loved him unconditionally, he would be lost. And as much as she wanted to extend a hand to him, help him, she knew it would be best not to. There was no turning back for them.

She went home that night, worrying about what House might be doing. If he was all right. If he was doing something stupid. If she should be giving him more credit than that. But knowing him, she knew better than to expect him to pick himself up and move on no matter how slow the pace.

So, she spent the entire week miles away worrying about him, never trying to approach him. One day though, she rang him and asked. He sounded sober yet utterly sad, but he reassured her that he was fine, going to be okay.

She shouldn't have believed him. She should have known better than to believe him.

Despite her suspicions, it still surprised her; hurt her so deeply to find out, one night after two weeks, that Chase and Foreman were called to identify his body, which had been found in his apartment. She was told that he had overdosed. On purpose.

Even in her mind, she didn't call him stupid the way she always did when he overdosed. She knew he'd only relied on his one true constant. The only thing left after Wilson's departure: pain. And when his pain devoured him, he looked to the only thing that ever carried him. Vicodin.

At one time, she and Wilson were his constants. When she left, Wilson carried him. He never was able to carry himself, never able to bear the weight of his pain, his demons, by himself.

So when Wilson left, and she acted like she didn't want to have anything to do with him, he let his pain carry him, let the pills and booze comfort him. Only, this final time, he knew exactly what he was doing, knew how it was going to end.

She didn't call him a moron, an idiot, or a goddamned lunatic. She didn't call or accuse him of anything.

He only died of a severely broken heart.

She wished their friendship hadn't ended like this. Both of the only true friends she ever had, dying. At the end of that seemingly long day, she wondered how different things would have been had she had more faith in House and gave him the chance he craved. The chance she wanted to extend but was too afraid to give. Would they have been happier, if she gave him that final chance to prove he could do better? What if she had heeded Wilson's plea that night he came to her? The night House jumped out of a hotel balcony and into a pool? How different would their lives have been had they handled the breakup differently? How different would their lives had been had she not broken up with him at all?

She also blamed herself for his death. How could she not? Wilson would have wanted her to check up on him, make sure he was at least coping. She wasn't his savior, but she used to be his friend. More than that, even. She cursed herself for not helping him, for fighting her urge to do so.

He had killed himself because nobody was there, would be there, to stop him, pull him back. He was able to kill himself, because nobody cared whether he lived or die.

She did though. She cared. She hated him, but she loved him still, and she just allowed him to let go, because of her anger and her pride. She allowed him to pass from this life to the next without even batting an eye. She'd been hard as stone and as cold as ice, and now he was as hard as the former and as cold as the latter. Her chest felt like it was being stabbed with a jagged knife.

No matter how hard she thought about it though, it was too late, and her questions would never be answered.

Wilson and House were dead.

This time though, nothing was going to bring them back.

Nothing was going to bring House back.

House's last words, the ones written on that small sheet of paper, gave her closure somehow.

His apology.

He was sorry for everything, but she should have known it included this.

As she watched her daughter, she thought about the only way to truly find closure.

His funeral service was going to be held in the morning of the following day, Foreman informed her.

Foreman and Chase had been late to inform her that House only faked his death for Wilson. He had to go back to jail during his best friend's last few months, so he was desperate to find a way out. As monumentally stupid as it was, it had been the only way, they told her. Foreman had told her that Wilson's final months were happy, because of House.

Cuddy felt even guiltier upon the revelation. If she'd known sooner... She shook her head. There was no use in thinking about these things. Though the guilt in her heart burned her, she ignored it for the moment.

She needed to say goodbye to him one last time, needed to stand by him one final time, so she decided to attend the service.

The next morning, she was surprised at just how many people showed up. They'd all thought the medical maverick had died a couple of months ago. The turnout might have been due to the half-page obituary Chase had felt the need to have published in a couple of newspapers.

She only found out about it through people who needed confirmation from her, House's ex-boss and ex-girlfriend. She wondered why people chose to call her when almost everyone knew what House had done to her. Despite that, the calls had been sad and awkward. All were genuinely sad for the medical field's loss, sad for _Cuddy's loss_, but some were also disappointed in losing an important asset. The callers (mainly old board members from Plainsboro or donors) who had expressed feeling the latter, or implied feeling that way, made her want to hang-up, but she had been able to control herself.

"Dr. Cuddy?" Chase was calling her attention, placing a warm hand against her arm, shaking her out of her thoughts.

"I'm sorry, what?" Cuddy said, looking at him.

"We were wondering if you'd like to say a few words?" Chase repeated his question with a cautious tone, wondering if he was already asking too much.

Cuddy looked at the people sitting along the pews, wondering if even half of them knew House like she did. Did they know him the same way his team did? The way Wilson did? Did they see him as a drug-addicted ex-felon whose only redeeming qualities were his brilliant medical mind and extraordinary diagnostic skills?

"It's okay if you-"

"I want to," Cuddy suddenly found herself whispering, eyes darting to the podium where House's body was laid, coffin uncovered.

"Okay. You're second to the last- House's mother. You come after Stacy."

Cuddy nodded and took her seat. She wanted to stand next to his coffin and gaze upon him, but she had already been able to do that for a couple of minutes earlier. She had some time after the eulogies, before the coffin is carried to his grave next to Wilson. Blythe had told her that it was what her son would have wanted. Asked if she'd known he was alive and not killed in the fire, she told Cuddy that she did. Blythe told her that House had told her after the funeral. Cuddy was surprised to know the reason behind House's felonious act. He had only wanted to be with his best friend until his last breath. He found out that he had to go back to jail, so he chose dying, committing an act of felony, over leaving Wilson on his own in his last couple of months. When her conversation with House's mother ended, Cuddy was in tears. Not only for the revelations his mother sprang on her, but also for the apology Blythe had given her.

"I know what Greg did was unforgivable. I am deeply sorry for what he put you through," Blythe had said, her eyes soft and soul-searching like her son's.

A woman with the same blue eyes approached her when Blythe walked towards the coffin, meeting some relatives Cuddy never heard of, let alone met.

"I hope you could find it in your heart to forgive him someday," she said, glancing at her nephew before looking back at her. "Though he hurt you deeply, he never loved anyone more than he loved you," House's aunt (she didn't know he had one) told Cuddy, squeezing her arm kindly, looking from her to House's mother. "She's too ashamed of what Greg did, she couldn't bring herself to ask this of you. But I know she would have liked that, you forgiving him. _He_ knew he would never get it, but we all know he wanted it more than anything."

It was the only thing the woman said before walking towards the same group of people Blythe was with.

Cuddy sat quietly on the second row to the right of the podium, her heart hammering in her chest.

A staggering number of people delivered eulogies. She knew that if by some stroke of miracle House was also there with them, he would have smirked and called them morons.

The last words of people varied. Every bad thing, every good thing was stated. People chuckled, grinned, laughed or cried as they recall mocking or funny things House had said or did. No matter how negative or positive the eulogies were, they spoke of the truth. The truth that as rough, hard, unfeeling and sarcastic House's exterior was, he was, deep down, a good man. He had had his moments, there were no doubt about that, but he was just like them. Human. Feeling and hurting and experiencing pain time after time. But he felt hurt and pain deeper than most, so he compensated by being gruff, sarcastic and deflective. He did his best to keep everyone out, therefore keeping feelings out of his interaction.

One person was bold enough to mention Cuddy in her eulogy.

"For as unconventional Dr. House's practice of medicine was, and as unfeeling as he tried to be, Dr. Cuddy had always unraveled his humanity. She pulled him back to the ground and made him interact more with people. Most attempts had been futile at first, but generally, collectively, in the long run, Dr. House's humanity slowly started to show. It slowly started to grow," the person had said, making Cuddy shift a little uncomfortably in her seat. "He's far from a humanitarian. Not even by a long shot. But he was a good person and a brilliant doctor. The medical world had lost a great mind and a good man."

Cuddy stiffened slightly when her name was called. She looked towards Chase and Foreman who nodded once to encourage her.

Stacy's speech had been short and sweet. She'd been devastated too. House was hard to forget and get over.

_I loved him and I messed everything up._

It was the summarized version of Cuddy's eulogy. But this wasn't about her, it was about House. She was very tempted to say it though, because it was what she felt. Her heart was pounding as she stood and walked up to the podium.

Chin held high she acknowledged everyone with a simple "hello."

"House," she never really called him Greg, so she wasn't going to start now, "was an extraordinary doctor." She took a deep breath, steadying herself.

"His bedside manner left much to be desired, but he did his job well and had saved hundreds of lives over the years."

She looked at all the people, her hands gripping the edge of the stand like a lifeline. Her legs must be shaking. She should have worn flats.

"As a friend... House was incredible. He had his moments, but, to be honest, his brutal honesty, the way he told things as they were, had helped a lot of people, saved a lot of lives. Including mine. He taught me, _us all_, a great deal of things."

She wasn't going to break down. She took another calming breath before continuing. "Never settle for anything less than what you want, if you could have it. Never let anyone hold you down or make you feel less than what you could be. He had taught me to always fight and never back down if I knew I was fighting for a cause I believed in."

As she spoke she was recalling everything, making the process of divulging the true House all the more difficult. Even in death he was being a pain in her ass.

That thought made the right corner of her mouth tug up ever so subtly.

Everyone should know the other side of House. The one he hid from everyone but those he truly trusted. The side of him Cuddy felt special to have experienced first hand. Of course there was that post-breakup major setback that would always sting when she remembered it, but the House pre-breakup... He had been incredible. He had been trying, but she'd been blinded by what she wanted him to be to take notice of just how much he wanted to be the one she wanted, the one she thought she needed him to be. She'd been too demanding, bitchy even, to remember that she loved him because he was House.

"I let him down, and that I deeply regret," she wanted to say, but went with, "He called everyone on their lies and their bullshit. I hated how he did that so well, but really, he was only doing it to hide how he cared."

"I love House. He was more than a great mind. He was a great person; loyal friend, great musician," she chuckled quietly, internally choked up. "He showed his feelings in the most unusual of ways. Wilson and I loved him for that."

"I only wish he could have been stronger for himself." And I wish I'd been strong enough to be strong for him, be there for him, she thought. She'd failed him as a friend. "And I wish I'd done something to help him."

"Gregory House will always be remembered. By us, by other people whose lives he's touched but were unable to be here today. From his crude remarks to his helpful yet poorly delivered advice; from his funny, but inappropriate jokes and his insubordination; from his lecherous jibes to his serious statements of the facts and truth; we'll remember him as the unique and incredible man that he was. We'll remember him as House. Because there will only be one."

Cuddy smiled a small smile before turning to look at House, lying there as if he were only sleeping. As her eyes touched his face, the desire to run her fingers against his skin, to caress his stubbled cheek and feel its roughness like she always loved to do struck her. If only for the last time, she thought. The ache in her chest was almost suffocating.

It took a lot of effort in her part to make her eyes part from his prone and lifeless body. She glanced back at the people watching her. She avoided their eyes and searched for House's mother. She nodded at her, indicating she was finished, and stepped down from the podium. She was quiet for the rest of the service.

She watched, frozen, as House's casket was lowered into the ground. He was in the lot beside Wilson's. Internally, she smiled, thinking that House literally followed his best friend to the grave. Truthfully, everyone knew that it was what the brilliant curmudgeon of a diagnostician would have wanted. If heaven and hell did exist, she was certain the two were somewhere together, exchanging witty remarks and sarcastic quips over mugs of beer or glasses filled with Bourbon.

She was brought out of her imaginings when House's mother handed her one long-stemmed red rose and nodded towards the grave.

"Thank you," she whispered. She walked towards the grave and took one long look at the coffin that contained the only man she ever truly loved and wanted, her eyes and her heart finally letting go, the dam breaking.

"I'll see you and Wilson again someday," she whispered quietly, adding, "I love you."

With those three words spoken, she let go of the stem, allowing the flower to descend into the ground with him.

When the people have left, Cuddy remained, promising House's mother she would follow just shortly. The old woman had hugged her tightly, thanking her for loving her son. Cuddy had only nodded, hurting for Blythe as well. No one should have to bury their own child, no matter how young or old.

She stayed for ten more minutes before she left and headed to Blythe's.

The next day, she visited House and Wilson's graves. She felt a bit bad though, because she was really there for House. After a while she concluded that Wilson would've understood.

She was wearing a v-cut top, jeans and a pair of running shoes. Sitting on the ground before House's tombstone, she surveyed the quiet surroundings for a while. Her eyes glazed over Wilson's for a while before finally setting on House's.

Touching his name, she wiped off some imaginary dirt.

"I forgive you," she said, finally speaking. "I'm sorry it took so long for me to let you know that. Took so much things happening before I could ask myself if I did."

She sighed and wiped a tear that escaped her eye. She looked at his name as if she were looking into his eyes. Sincerely, she stressed, "I do forgive you."

She bit her lip as she read his name over and over again.

"I only wish I could have asked for yours, too. While you were still here, not this way."

As the wind caressed her face, the warmth of it brought more tears to her eyes. She closed them and imagined the wind was his touch, warm and letting her know his answer. She needn't guess though, needn't question what his answer would have been.

House had always forgiven those he loved, no matter the offense.

He would always be the most incredible man she had ever known.


End file.
